Broken Crown
by agentsofthemcu
Summary: "They're certainly something to see, his little soldiers. He loves watching them. They are amazing, beautiful. They're his. They're fantastic, by far Tom Neville's greatest accomplishment, and he doesn't think he could possibly be any prouder of them." AU - Pairings to be decided


**A/N: Hello! This is just a random fic I got the idea for on a whim but it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. I don't know if I want to continue it yet or what ships might be there (I'm multi-shipper trash, I'm sorry.) Charloe and/or Jarlie is the obvious choice. But it'll probably be whatever you guys want. Either way, ships are far in the future, so I won't worry about that too much. I just hope this works.**

 **The rating may go up later, but for now things are tame.**

 **Title is from the Mumford and Sons song of the same name.**

 **I do not own Revolution at all.**

 **I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are mine.**

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They're certainly something to see, Neville decides as he watches them from the doorway, his little soldiers. Although, he considers, they're not quite so little as they were when they were recruited, a little less than a decade ago. They aren't even training, only preparing for their most important mission yet, the one they've been working toward since they were children, and yet they have his complete attention.

He loves watching them, it makes the pride swell in his chest to see them, his creations, in perfect working order. The fact that his son, his own flesh and blood, is among them, only enhances his satisfaction. They are amazing, beautiful. They're _his_.

Of course, they're his because that is what he made them. An order from any other officer, even President Monroe himself, is as meaningless to them as the electricity they scarcely remember. His words are the only ones they heed. In a strange way, though only Jason is blood, they're all his children, and he's glad he's trained them so well, because losing even one would be losing family.

His eyes fall on one of them, the older of only two girls, his most prized soldier. Julia _had_ always wanted a daughter.

Despite his fondness toward them, it's easiest for him to think of them with the terminology of wolves, as 'pack' is the only term that comes to mind when they operate independently.

His boy and Charlie, he thinks, are the alphas. Aside from himself, they are the only two the other three will take orders from without question. Despite Jason being two years older than Charlie's seventeen, they interact like nothing he's ever seen. While both are perfectly capable on their own, they seem even better when they work together, like one is merely the extension of the other. In training practices, he's seen them share entire plans and have whole conversations in quick glances so fast he almost missed them. They fight back to back when they can, and if he's honest, combined, they're probably more skilled than the other three put together.

Tobias, he considers their beta. Seventeen, the blonde shows great promise, almost paralleling the alphas in skill, but seemingly without the desire to lead. He seems especially devoted to Charlie, but takes any order from his leaders seriously. Something in him reminds Neville of Captain Baker. He thinks a lot of it has to do with the sarcastic sense of humor and flirtatious nature he sees whenever the boy lets his guard down.

The twins, sixteen year old Evan and Emily, would have to be omegas. They're younger than the others, not as strong physically, but they contribute hugely in their own way. Tom doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as adept with explosives as young Evan, nor anyone as dangerous with poison as Emily. If a fight breaks out among the group, its usually the twins who take the brunt of it. They're kind to their makeshift family, and any transgressions are always forgiven quickly. It's Evan who will spar with the alphas or beta until their anger has dissolved, often taking a beating, and then Emily who will tend to the wounds and bruises they've given each other, speaking to them in soft tones and offering smiles until everything's in order again.

No matter to their private personalities, to the outside world, each would be quicker to slit a throat at an order than to extend even a fraction of a kindness they show to each other.

They're fantastic, by far Tom Neville's greatest accomplishment, and he doesn't think he could possibly be any prouder of them.

They're seasoned killers, all of them, a fact that's far too easy to forget. Each had taken their first lives long before they'd even entered their teens. He had held them all as they cried the first time, and they _had_ all cried, had cradled each of them in his arms and wiped away their tears and kissed their brows and told them that it was okay, that they'd done the right thing. They'd taken their orders. They were _good._ He was proud of them. He loved them.

They don't cry when they kill anymore, haven't since that first time, but he still tells them that they did good, that they _are_ good, that he's proud of them.

A blur of motion catches his eye, and it takes about half a second to realize that the motion was Jason throwing Charlie her crossbow from his spot on his bed. She slings it over her shoulder casually, casting him an appreciative glance.

They're dressed in civilian clothes, all different enough to not be suspicious, but similar enough to give them a sense of unity.

Charlie dons a brown leather jacket over a grey tank top and faded blue jeans. Twin swords hang sheathed from her belt, and a quiver rests over the same shoulder that holds her bow.

Jason wears a denim jacket over a long sleeved shirt and jeans that have been patched many times. A single sword rests on his hip and a quiver hangs over his shoulder.

Tobias is dressed in a black leather jacket that's just a touch too long for him in the arms, over a blue t-shirt and jeans. A sword is sheathed on one side of his waist, a dagger in the other.

Evan wears a white long sleeved shirt with jeans, black hair newly cut short with a sword on each hip, the one on his left not quite matching his right. Emily, short, pixie-ish Emily, dresses the same and wears the same gear, with the only difference being that her hair is pulled up into a braid.

They all have long sleeves to cover the brands on their wrists.

They aren't official Monroe Militia, hell, Monroe doesn't even know they _exist_ (yet), but Tom branded them for two reasons: convenience, and strategy.

If they get stopped, the 'M's on their arms let them pass as conscripts easily enough, and they have Militia uniforms he got for them in their bags to solidify the story.

Strategy comes in to play first though. He'd branded them the day after each had made their first kill, which was about ten years old for most of them. He'd treated it as an honor, and turned the brandings into a celebration, and by the time it was time for the twins to be branded last, they'd been so excited they'd barely kept still long enough to get it done. They'd cried and wailed from the pain of it of course, but once that was done, it'd become a bond between them all, a shared pain and pride. He thinks that the burns in their flesh are what really turned them into a team.

The brands are also there as a reminder of their ultimate goal. They're to be the best soldiers the Monroe Militia had ever seen, outdoing even the famed Miles Matheson's troops. They're to be a gift to the president, symbols of a new era. And that isn't even the best of it.

Perhaps the pinnacle of their existence will be the mission they're preparing for now in utter silence.

They will find the missing General Matheson and return him to his home in Philadelphia, where they'll finally be revealed.

His eyes slip to Charlie. Charlie Matheson. He had been ecstatic when she'd first been brought to him, even before Miles fled Philly, an eight year old runaway his troops had found. She'd been added immediately to the program, one of the almost twenty initial candidates.

Over the years, he'd told her stories of her Uncle Miles and President Monroe, about how happy they'd be to see her when it was time, how proud of her they'd be. Then when Miles turned traitor, he explained to her that she would be able to save him, reunite him with the President, that he was just lost and a little mistaken and she'd be able to fix it. All she had to do was get the General back to the capitol so he and the President could talk, but it had to be a surprise or it wouldn't work. The girl had lapped up his every word and her determination sent her right to the head of the pack, where she'd remained, even as the twenty candidates became five.

For now, she arranges her hair to cover the small Monroe Militia symbol that's tattooed on the back of her neck. They all have them, it's marker setting them apart from the average soldier. They're small, about the size of a quarter (not that anyone uses that size comparison anymore) but they're enough.

"Alright," she starts, sounding almost hesitant as she breaks the silence of the room. "I think we're ready."

"You're more than ready." He agrees from his spot in the doorway, beaming at them. "You'll do just fine."

The encouragement has them sending smiles to each other, nerves making them slightly nervous but their unyielding faith in Tom and his judgement giving them hope.

"Your horses are already loaded," He tells them, stepping forward. Resting a hand on Jason's shoulder, he meets each pair of eyes steadily. His son seems to know what's coming, because he slips out from under his father's hand and starts outside, bow in hand and bag slung over his shoulder. Tom isn't at all offended, he and Jason have already said their goodbyes. This is for the others.

Tobias reaches out and shakes the Major's hand, nodding once. Once he drops his hands though, he offers a sheepish smile. Tom claps him on the back lightly.

"Good luck." He tells him.

"Thank you," The blonde returns, before he grabs his own bag and is gone.

Emily steps forward and stands on tiptoe, as slight as she is, and kisses his cheek before grinning up at him. He doesn't have a chance to say anything to her before she moves off to the door, her gait so graceful it almost seems like a dance.

Evan meets his gaze steadily as he shakes his hand, a far cry from the tiny six year old who was once terrified of him. Tom reaches out and sets his hand on the boy's shoulder, just a touch lower than his own.

"Take care of yourself son." He tells him gently. Evan nods once and moves to join his sister, the pair of them heading outside to their horses.

He turns to face Charlie, who seems to have put on her best poker face, the one he can see right through because he taught it to her. He steps to face her.

"Remember, once you have Miles, send word here, and I'll meet you an hour out of Philly." It's an order, as quietly as he says it, and she knows it, because she nods obediently. After a moment, he continues. "Take care of them."

"Yes sir." The poker face slips, and she suddenly seems unsure of herself.

Suddenly, she steps forward and hugs him. It catches him by surprise, but he hugs her back.

"Take care of _yourself."_ He adds.

She nods as she pulls away.

"I'll see you outside of Philly then." She says with a small smile, picking up her bag from the cot she'll likely never see again.

He nods, and she's gone.

He takes one last look around the room of the cabin, stripped bare of everything - not that there was much to begin with.

When he walks back into the sunlight, they're already gone, the sound of hoofbeats already fading fast.

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 **So? Thoughts? Should I continue or leave it as is? I'm considering doing a few oneshots of Charlie, Jason, Tobias, and the twins in training and what life was like for them growing up.**


End file.
